Desert Rain
by EternusLemures
Summary: When Gaara's boredom reaches its peak, he has no choice but to go to his sister, Temari, for help. People-watching was the answer. However, Gaara soon discovers that finding someone you can trust can be like finding rain in the desert.
1. Ink and Blood

Heat swelled in visible waves from the arid sand dunes. The world was cast in the flat orange glow of mid-afternoon, turning the fine granules into blazing towers of glass and the single stream, that ran along the outskirts of the city, into a glaring mirror. The air was so thick, a tangible, living thing, that it moved like the hot breaths of some great, fiery beast. Too hot for early April.

Later in the evening, when the earth had cooled and the sun was easing off into the Western sky, people would emerge from their homes. Like an anthill stirred by the hand of a curious child, the inhabitants of the Hidden Sand village would take a collective breath and become alive once again. For now, though, most people had taken their children and animals inside, hiding away from the blistering heat of the day, perhaps playing games or napping away the hours before the temperature would become bearable once again.

Amongst these people was a nineteen year old boy, who sat staring out an open doorway, watching the sand spin in small eddies as the wind teased the grains. A heavy woven mat, which normally hung in the place of a door, was pinned off to the side. There was no need for the security of a solid, locking panel. No one came here. No one would dare.

Said boy surveyed his empty, dusty world with blue-green eyes half-closed in boredom. Had someone passed by at that moment, they may have thought their great and fearsome Kazekage to be no more, staring so unblinkingly into the desert sand. As unnaturally pale as he was, with sunken, dark eyes, he resembled a corpse, sitting in his doorway. The young man turned these morbid thoughts and others over and over again in his head before he finally shifted to stare into the sun. As the sun blinded him, hot and white, he decided...

He had to get _out_.

Planting his hands on the ground next to him, he hoisted himself into a kneeling position before he swept out the door. The only sign left of his presence was the carpet hanging, flapping quietly in the wind.

Gaara was bored… And unlike most boys his age, he hadn't any hobbies to keep him busy in his times of boredom. Unlike his sister, Temari, he didn't like to talk to people. Humans in general would run away screaming when he happened to pass by. If he were to be honest with himself, he was getting tired of people yelling, "Monster!" and whispering about the "red-haired demon" when they thought he couldn't hear them.

On the other hand, his brother, Kankurou, was an aloof but very dexterous individual. Being good with his hands enabled him to craft the very puppets that he used to fight with, as well as building models of a number of things. He had built a replica of the entire Hidden Village of Sand, complete with miniature citizens. It was used now, in planning strategies for placing guards and escape routes during a time of crisis.

When the redhead had expressed his boredom one-day, Kankurou had offered to let him paint some of the tiny people. Gaara, however, quickly lost his patience and threw the box of paintbrushes across the room. Kankurou had to contain his laughter when Gaara had given a rare and childish display of pouting.

"Go talk to Temari," he suggested gruffly, "She'd _love_ to help you find a hobby…"

Though the idea of giving Temari free reign to use her forceful power of suggestion in his life was not at all appealing, he decided that at least he would be doing something to alleviate this maddening tedium. So talk to Temari, he had. She was surprisingly silent for a while before she ran to her room. Gaara twitched at the girlish giggles that emanated from beyond where he could see. Finally, she brought him a bottle of ink and a sheaf of paper. When he stared at her strangely, she laughed and pushed them into his arms.

"You like to watch people, right?" It was a rhetorical question and she didn't wait for him to answer.

"Then why don't you write what you discover about them in a journal? It's also for writing down how you feel and basically…" she paused, touching her chin thoughtfully, "thinking on paper, so to speak." She grinned widely at him when she saw him cock his head, as if considering it. "So go on!" She shooed him out the door. "Go people-watch!" With a goofy, self-satisfied grin on her face, she dropped the door flap between them.

Twitching even more now, he returned to his house on the outskirts of the village; stowing away the writing utensils for later use. It hadn't taken him long to find a subject of interest to observe. He'd gone to the marketplace; the area of greatest public activity (though he really didn't understand why. As far as he was concerned, it was an overcrowded, noisy, place that smelled like camel dung and sold cheap and worthless items. Temari loved it, though, so he supposed it had to have _some_ verifiability.)

Within minutes, he had spotted his first target teetering along down the street, invisible past the wall of bags and boxes full of who-knew-what. He caught the few "Sumimasen"'s on the rising heat of the day as the person dodged its way through the crowded square.

The overly laden individual nearly crashed to the ground when a group of small children rushed past. However, the lucky save was pointless as, not five seconds later, there was a loud crash, the sound of breaking glass, and angry male accusations.

The person, who turned out to be a woman of average stature and slim build, had crashed into a cart of melons. The vendor, having lost nearly ten of the notoriously delicious fruit in the incident, was standing over her, bellowing insanely, and demanding that she pay for all of his damaged produce.

Gaara amused himself by momentarily musing about how the vendor resembled both a tomato, with his furious complexion, and a windmill as he gestured wildly, swinging his arms in wide circles.

He was snapped out of this strange train of thought, however, when he noticed the woman hold her hands before her face. The male vendor fell silent and a startled hush swept over the nosy crowd that had formed around them. The soft pit-pat of blood striking the compacted, sandy earth was audible even from his position hidden among the rafters of a nearby building.

Apparently the glassware had fallen before all else and, in her attempt to cushion her own fall, the woman-child had thrown her hands behind her, effectively slicing her palms to a bloody mess. Ignoring the blood and the vendor's sudden change in demeanor, she pulled a sum of money from a pouch that hung at her side. Throwing the cash and coins at the vendor's feet, she gingerly grabbed the bags that had managed to remain intact before walking away.

Gaara stayed a moment longer to watch the vendor pocket the money greedily before life went on as it had before, the small drama having been played out. Curious, he followed the woman to her home, sticking to the rooftops from a distance. She lived close to the northernmost end of the Hidden Sand Village, completely opposite to Gaara's home.

Setting the bags down outside her door, which, like most of the homes in the village, was not carpet but a heavy wooden panel, she paused. Glancing over her shoulder, she fished a key out of her purse, swearing under her breath as the brushed her ragged hands on something inside. Slowly, she managed to drag in all the bags, two-by-two. It was actually rather amusing to watch her try to hold the door open with one foot while she pivoted on the other, and hopped her way in. Even after the sun went down and she finally closed the door to her home, he stayed and watched.

It was only when he caught the sound of running water that Gaara made the decision to leave. He went home in silence, reveling in the quiet of his empty house in comparison to the obstreperous marketplace. By the light of a brightly-burning candle, he wrote of his encounter.

When Temari awoke the next morning, she found a small stack of papers in her kitchen, covered in fresh ink, in the long, scrawling handwriting of her younger sibling.

It wasn't long before Gaara found himself visiting the woman's house almost daily. There was always something going on. An elderly neighboring woman had asked to use the young woman's oven, and nearly burned down her house in the attempt to bake a cake for her young grandson. (Temari had had a field day reading about that one.)

Gaara found that the young woman had a cat, as she spent many hours one day chasing it around her house. Her favorite colors were aquamarine and pale violet, those being the two main colors she's painted her bedroom. Most importantly, he discovered that her name was Sunako—Child of the Sand.

She seemed fairly popular amongst the Villagers, greeting everyone in the marketplace with a warm smile and a polite "hello" in the mornings. In the afternoons, she would usually go occupy the children of the vendors by involving them in one game or another while the mothers sat nearby, supervising.

It turned out that she never liked to have anyone left out. One of the girls was too small to play ball with the other children so, while _they_ played and rough-housed, Sunako sat in the sand and played with dolls with the little girl until her mother came for her at sundown. Sunako waved goodbye to the little girl and returned home alone, one of the little wooden dolls tucked in the crook of her arm as a parting gift. The doll soon found its place on the sill of her bedroom window.

All of that had occurred two weeks ago, though. Since then, Sunako had taken to reading outside in her garden, which was surprisingly large and fertile considering the sandy terrain of the Wind Country. She would typically begin her reading sessions at about two o'clock in the afternoon, after returning home from the marketplace, where she worked. The sessions would normally end some hours later, between four and five o'clock, punctuated only by the times she went inside to get a drink.

Gaara would always go to her home (unless he was called away elsewhere for his duties as a shinobi) before she went outside. In this span of time, he would settle himself in under the tangerine tree in the far right corner of the garden. Here he was covered just enough by the large, flowering, melon vines, which grew all along her yard, to be able to see without being seen.

In addition to being the perfect area for observation, the tangerines she grew were some of the best he'd ever tasted. They were always sweet and juicy with just the perfect tangy edge…

Though he'd never be the one to tell _her _that…

So it was on this day, when his boredom had reached its peak too early in the day to suit his tastes, that Gaara of the Sand made his way via rooftops to the garden of the amazing tangerine-growing Sunako. Upon his arrival, he took his seat in his usual place beneath the tree, behind the vines, and waited for the most recent object of his attention to come out. As he waited, he plucked a tangerine from its woody stem and began peeling it deftly. He breathed deeply of the fruit's sharp, citrusy scent, and relaxed against the slim trunk.

He didn't have to wait long before she strolled out onto her back porch, book in hand. She stretched her arms lazily over her head, white cotton undershirt coming up to reveal her toned belly. Lavender training pants hung low on her hips, tied loosely with a pair of knotted pull-chords. Her hair was piled haphazardly on her head in a wet, curling mass. He noted absentmindedly that a few wayward tendrils has escaped to curl around her neck and ears.

It was a sight that Gaara had become accustomed to seeing. In the beginning, it had bothered him—seeing anyone in such a state of undress and relaxation seemed somehow… wrong. Humans were supposed to be naturally guarded and secretive; no one was supposed to let anyone else see them so exposed or obviously weak. They'd end up hurt or killed if they remained too long in that form. And here was Sunako prancing about in her pajamas at all hours of the day as if it were the most normal thing in the world to do so…

Gaara shook his head slowly. The woman-child he watched was indeed an oddity. She was one strange quirk after another, from her apparent fascination with Botany (in the desert no less) to her strange choice in books. Even now she was flipping open a foreign title—_Romeo and Juliet_ by some William Shakespeare fellow…

And she had the strangest habits. While she read, she would say the words aloud, with the addition of small exclamations of glee or surprise. She spoke so clearly that, if he listened hard enough, he could actually understand what was happening in the story, however strangely it was worded. It was almost as if she was just so used to doing this that it was merely a reaction. With reading came speaking.

Sunako was halfway through a scene in which the main male character, Romeo, was hiding below Juliet's balcony listening to her rant about his name, when the back sliding door that led in to Sunako's home inched open and… her fat orange tabby darted out.

Bemused, Gaara watched as she chased the cat around the garden, a scowl etched firmly onto her face, and yelling about the cat being a "stupid, fat, pesky, irritating waste of space…" Suddenly, the cat swerved its path from a patch of blooming white strawberry flowers to the tangerine tree under which Gaara was sitting.

Panicking slightly, Gaara searched for an escape route by which he could leave without his presence being noticed. Finding none, he opted to run for it if she found him and kill her if she started screaming. However, right before the fat cat darted into the bushes, Sunako scooped it up into the air and plopped herself on the ground, holding the cat up by her front paws. Tugging gently on one paw after another, she admonished, "And just _where_ did you think _you_ were going?"

The cat mewled loudly, staring over Sunako's shoulder and straight into the foliage that was currently hiding Gaara's position. Scowling, she nagged at the cat. "Hey! Look at me when I'm scolding you, you aggravating ball of fluff." After another bout of the cat's incessant yowling, she turned, looking from the cat to the bush and back to the cat in confusion. Gaara swore he could hear the Wheel of Fate turning in the silence. He had only just discovered this decently interesting person, and now he was going to have to kill her. He would be bored all over again!

"Ne, Momo-chan… do you have a friend in there?" Wrapping one arm around the still-yowling feline, she reached forward with the other, pushing the vines aside…

…Only to find herself pinned on her back on the ground with a hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Momo wriggled out of her grip and jumped a few feet away, fur on end, hissing manically. Without removing his hand, Gaara manipulated the slim girl to her feet before dragging her into the house and into the first room he could find.

This room just happened to be a very small broom closet. Pressing her against the far wall, pinning her there with his body acting as a living barrier, he glared at her and hissed, "If you scream, I'll kill you." He stared at her for a long moment, as if to make sure that his point was clear. After receiving no outward response, he removed his hand slowly. Sunako sucked in a deep breath of air and he noted somewhere in the back of his mind that she smelled nice.

However, that thought was cut short by a lilting tone. "Well I wondered who was eating all of my tangerines…" She smiled brightly at him and he found it difficult to come up with a scathing remark. Instead, he opted just to step away from her, removing all physical contact and taking himself away from the pleasant scent. He'd be sure to analyze it… later.

Finally, he thought of something to say. "Are you daft?" When her only response was the quirking of an eyebrow, he questioned, "I just threatened your life and am currently a lingering threat, and all you can think to say is 'I wondered who was eating my tangerines?' You're daft, woman, you must be."

Her eyebrow twitched impossibly higher as she laughed again, the sound somehow musical yet airy. "I could be daft," she retorted, "Or I could simply want out of my closet. After all, small spaces tend to make me nervous." She gave him a sheepish smile and, not knowing what else to do, Gaara swung the door open and stepped out. She followed quickly after him.

They both stood awkwardly silent outside the closet door, fidgeting and not meeting the other's eyes. However, this moment only lasted a few seconds before Gaara turned to leave. Sunako's arm snaked out, catching his wrist and tugging lightly. Gaara felt the sand stir expectantly in the gourd on his back, waiting for his command. "Anou, Gaara-sama, would you like to stay for lunch?"

He stood there for a long moment, completely silent. Then, his eyes narrowed and he jerked away so suddenly that Sunako stumbled forward, almost in to him. He glared at her spitefully. "Why do you want Gaara, the Desert Monster, to stay? Is it so that you can go into the marketplace tomorrow and tell them all how you survived an encounter with the Raccoon Beast?"

She looked at him strangely before stepping forward, her hand fluttering up to brush the red bangs away from the kanji on his forehead. This time, he had to consciously restrain the movement of the sand as it trickled across the skin of his back. She looked at him calmly. "Funny," her voice was low—almost a whisper, "You don't look like a monster to me."

He jerked away, staring at her for a long moment. Calculating. Deciding. Without a word, he waved his hand and procured a mound of sand behind him. It swirled slowly, forming the shape of a stool. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat down.

Understanding his actions as a form of assent, the young woman grinned. "I'll take that as a 'yes,' then?" Without waiting for an answer, which he wouldn't have given even if she had, Sunako turned on her heel and disappeared behind a corner, and into a spacious kitchen. There was a clattering of dishes, the click of a propane stove, and the sound of a knife on a cutting board.

While he waited, Gaara peered around her house curiously. Whereas he lived a Spartan lifestyle, Sunako lived an Athenian's. From where he sat, in a main hallway of sorts, he could see a comfortable-looking couch, large enough to lie out fully and use as a bed. An elaborate Fire Country rug sprawled across the floor; its brilliant red and gold weave standing in bright contrast to the rich chocolate brown sofa. The walls were painted a calm light beige color, pretty standard really, and decorated in various pieces of artwork. Most were abstract works of flowers.

The piece that held his attention, however, was a shadowbox hanging. Part of this was because it moved. Within the shadowbox were four hourglasses, each filled with a different colored sand. Gaara stood and walked across the large living room to stand before it. He watched as the first, a glass filled with sand as pale and fine as snow, spun slowly around on its axis, sifting the sand from one bulb to the other and back. At the neck of the glass was a pair of brass wings, extended as if it would take flight.

The second was a glass of pale green sand. The bars that held the wooden caps at the end of each glass bulb were decorated so that they looked like creeping vines of ivy. It rocked gently back and forth. However, in a slow, stuttering trickle, the sand drifted upward, from the bottom half to the top. There was a sharp gasp from the kitchen and the clang of metal against the sandstone tile. A small trickle of sand returned to the bottom half before it began its upward venture anew. Gaara's eyes roamed to the third glass.

This was a strange trinket. The bars were carved in the shape of a thorny vine. The glass itself was cracked at the top. The sand, crimson as the buds on a desert cactus, was pooled in the bottom bulb. It did not move.

The last one was perhaps the strangest of them all and surprisingly morbid in comparison to its colorful companions. The glass was filled from top to bottom with glittering black sand. It was held on its side as if it had been knocked over, and the posts were decorated in the shapes of bones. A grinning skull lay at each end of each post.

Gaara stared for a long while at the box, trying to decipher the meaning of each hourglass, their strange movements, and positions. After some time, the scent of green tea reached him and he turned away from the box. Standing behind him, trays of food in hand, was Sunako. She gestured for them to sit outside with the tilt of her head. Nodding curtly in assent, he led the way, sliding open the back door.

At the wave of his hand, the chair of sand returned to its more fluid form before reforming behind him. He waited for her to sit at the small metal table before seating himself, the product of endless drills in proper etiquette by Temari and Kankurou. Both were determined to morph him into a cultured Kazekage.

Gaara, however, didn't trust the food or the drink. Sunako seemed to find this amusing. "Aww… it's just a turkey sandwich and tea. It's not going to bite you or explode." When Gaara still didn't move, she pulled his plate towards her. She took a sip of his tea and set it down before ripping off a small piece of his sandwich and popping it into her mouth. Chew, chew, and swallow.

He watched her carefully as she pushed his plate back towards him. Satisfied that she hadn't turned purple or keeled over, Gaara took a tentative bite of his sandwich. He was tempted to smirk. It was surprisingly good for such a simple meal. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of the food before sipping at his tea.

"It's not too sweet, is it?" Sunako was holding her sandwich, looking at him with a curious expression. She looked as if she were waiting for him to explode, which was understandable considering his earlier behavior. With a strange sense of unreality, he shook his head and nearly started when she broke into a wide grin. She ate the rest of her sandwich in happy silence. He'd already finished his.

After she was done, she took a long drink of her green tea, draining her ceramic cup in one try. When she was sure that there were no drops clinging to the bottom, she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. She turned her head to look at the garden. The cat, Momo, was romping about, attempting to catch a translucently white butterfly. She smiled fondly at the sight of the feline tripping over itself and rolling about in the high grass. Gaara sipped his tea and watched her for a few long moments before deciding to break the silence.

"What was that strange box in your living room?" She turned her head to look at him in surprise. Her expression darkened momentarily before returning to its original carefree wonder.

"I assume you mean the one with the hourglasses?" He nodded. Sighing, she looked away, staring into empty space. "It's an heirloom of sorts. One like it is given to all of the first-born females in my family. I received that one from my grandmother."

She didn't seem willing to add more so Gaara didn't ask, though he was wont to find out this "heirloom's" purpose. He understood the need for personal secrets. After all, as a shinobi, Gaara was no stranger to the world of hidden truths.

The sparing conversation between them was all small talk after that. Sunako asked if he had any siblings. She laughed at how he described Kankurou as a "dominating, dense, whiny fool who plays with dolls" and Temari as a "loud-mouthed, gossiping, pathetic excuse for a shinobi." It was the most he said at once in his whole time there.

"What about you?" He watched as her facial expression remained a controlled calm. However, Gaara didn't miss the shift behind her eyes. He wondered for a moment what could have caused that brief look of deep pain before deciding that he didn't care.

She began slowly, as if trying to choose her words with care. "I have two brothers. They're twins, older than me by four years. Their names are Tsuki and San. They'll be pranksters forever, that's for certain." A wistful tone came to her voice. "They are so annoying. I was always their favorite target when we were younger because I would get so… mad… when they played their tricks on me."

She smiled suddenly and faced him, leaning forward excitedly, as if sharing a secret. Her pale blue eyes sparkled like the rare glassy streams that could be found in the arid desert country. "They dyed my hair pink once. It was the funniest thing, now that I remember it. My hair used to be so light that it absorbed practically any color. They put the dye in my shampoo one morning. I was in such a rush that I didn't even look in the mirror, just ran straight to where I was supposed to be. Everyone who saw me, which was a lot of people, mind you, called me Princess Pinky for months afterwards. Ooh, I hated them for that."

Gaara was struck suddenly by the image of a particular Konoha kunoichi with natural, alarmingly pink hair. Somehow imagining Sunako with Sakura's hair and in her red and green attire was humorous to say the least. He smirked.

The hour was late and the sun was already casting its final dying rainbow across the sky. Sunako rolled her teacup in her palms, the coiled ceramic ware twirling slowly in her small hands. Lowly, she whispered, "It's getting late, Gaara-sama. Sundown will be soon. I'm sure someone's wondering where you've been all day." Deftly, she took the empty teacup from his hands, scooping up the plates in the same motion, and slid the door open with her foot.

Without being asked to, Gaara followed her into the house and slid the door shut right as Momo darted in. He felt… off… in this house, he decided. It was as if everything on the outside had stopped moving as soon as he stepped within its confines. This feeling wasn't frightening, just strange. Unnerving. Unreal. It perturbed him on a deep level. Perhaps, though, this was because he couldn't place its source?

Mentally, he shrugged; nothing could harm him. He was Gaara of the Sand. In his desert world, he was invincible and nothing could touch him. Strangely, this thought provided him with a sense of needed comfort.

He stood behind Sunako; though not nearby. Gaara leaned against the entryway nearest the hall from where he had originally spotted the shadowbox art. It was a large arch that led to an even larger kitchen. The kitchen itself was large enough to accommodate four or five chefs during the blistering afternoon rush. She stood with her back facing him, washing the dishes that they'd used.

There was silence hanging between them. It wasn't an amiable silence, like that shared between friends, nor was it an awkward one. It was merely a space lacking in words, as comfortable as silence can be between strangers. It stretched on until she shut off the tap with a sharp click. She turned and seemed momentarily surprised to see him still standing there.

Suddenly, she shook her head and grinned. "I'm sorry, that was my mistake. I'll show you to the door. I forgot this is the first time you've actually been _inside_ my house." Calmly, she walked past him and led the way down the hall and around a corner. She reached for the door handle and he noted that it hadn't been locked.

'_She must be trusting. How naïve.' _ He nodded to her before stepping out the door. She stood at the door, leaned against the frame, watching him go. A distant sad look crossed her face, as if touched by a memory. She didn't shut the door until Gaara disappeared from her vision over the rooftops, his preferred method of transportation.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the Hidden Village of Sand was immersed in darkness. Late that night, when the rest of the day-walking world had wandered far into the Land of Dreams, the only one who was barred from that world sat up, ink stains blooming across his fingertips and palms, writing. His handwriting raced across the pages in a uniform scrawl.

He had taken so to writing that Temari had bought him his own author's desk, which had inkwells built into one of the drawers. As a belated birthday gift, Kankurou had given him a set of finely made wooden quills and thick stack of durable parchment. The quills, of course, had been made by Kankurou's own hand.

Without warning, the sculpted wooden tip ceased its rapid movements across the thick paper. Ink flooded that single point, seeping into the words around it, effectively ruining the whole page. Gaara stared at it impassively. Clouds covered the moon, casting the room into darkness. After a moment, the haze separated and revealed the room to be less one redheaded teenager.

Sunako woke from a shaky sleep, plagued by fears and memories amplified into nightmares by the monsters in the Land of Dreams. Clutching the front of her shirt tightly, she forced her body to stop shaking and released the breath she'd taken to scream. Flinging the covers roughly from her body, she stumbled out of bed and to her bathroom down the hallway. The door slammed behind her. There was the sound of running water and a small crash before Sunako stumbled back into the hall. She narrowly missed falling down the stairs before she grabbed the wooden railing to steady herself.

A few minutes later, she fell back into her bed. Her windows creaked open, the desert night winds causing it to come to a stop with a bang. Sheer white curtains billowed like twin pillars of smoke. In a low voice, she called out to him in the darkness.

"My garden is one thing, but hiding in my room to watch me is an extreme invasion of personal space. If you're going to watch me, do it where I can see you." She strained out the last sentence, as if it were difficult to say. The feeble tone of her voice sounded odd in comparison to the ringing melody and jovial countenance his mind recalled from earlier.

He stepped from behind the curtains. Half-shrouded in darkness, he merely stared at her for a long moment, piecing together why he was there.

Suddenly, her laughter rang out. It had a sharp, brittle sound to it that grated against his senses. That same tired voice called to him again. "You have a question, don't you?" When he didn't respond, she beckoned to him, motioning for him to sit at the edge of her bed.

He started. Taking a step back, a briefly shocked expression crossed his face. It was nothing more than a small widening of sea green eyes and a stunned parting of the lips, but it was enough.

"I won't bite you, I promise. I do, however, have the tendency to snap." Her smile had once again returned and he found that it agitated him.

"Don't make light of me," he commanded, gritting out the words tightly. His hands clenched into a fist at his side. Eyes narrowed into slits, and he began mumbling under his breath. A dusting of sand began swirling around his body.

She stared at him with a somewhat bored front. In a monotone voice, she stated, "While in this house, I will make light of whomever I wish." She sighed, seeing him become angrier. "However, what I said was meant as a joke towards myself and a friendly tease towards you." She gave him a flat look, a combination of exhaustion and boredom. "It appears you'll have nothing to do with joking, though."

This didn't calm Gaara in the slightest. Sand flew around him in a glittering storm. For a split second, he disappeared from her vision. Anticipating his move, she braced herself, hands up. This didn't stop him from finding his fingers around her small throat, constricting the passage to prevent her breathing. It did, however, keep him from slamming her against the wall so hard that he crushed her esophagus.

On the other hand, her head crashed so sharply against the lavender-painted surface that she saw stars. A dull throb bloomed at the base of her skull and she winced as she felt wet heat slip down her neck and seep into her shirt. _'Well,'_ the voice in the back of her head mentioned dryly_, 'the two coppers wasted for this shirt could have gone towards something more useful.'_

Gaara stared at her, waiting for her to either stop breathing or open her eyes. It was only a few seconds before the dark crescents that lined her eyes separated, revealing defiant blue orbs. In her eyes, he saw pain and anger. There was a slight hint of disappointment. However, no matter how deeply he searched, he didn't sense any fear for her life.

He pushed away gruffly and Sunako fell back against her pillows. Gaara turned away from her, sitting on the edge of her bed. He stared at the carpeting, a heavy frown painted on his face. Finally, he asked his question in a voice so soft that it was barely audible.

Sunako leaned forward, still rubbing her neck, already feeling the soft tissue swell there. "Why didn't I scream?" Gaara nodded. She paused. "You mean just now?"

Gaara glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. His voice was still airily soft. "Now. Before. At all." He seemed nervous, which was a surprising change from the aggression he'd displayed not a minute before. She waited a moment before answering, taking time to observe his seemingly unconscious actions.

He twiddled his thumbs. He cracked all of his knuckles. He netted his fingers together, tapping the fingertips of one hand against the knuckles of the other and vice versa. Finally, he uncrossed his fingers and began the pattern again, starting with twiddling his thumbs. Sunako could have laughed aloud. The infamous Gaara, the vessel of the Raccoon Beast, was fidgety when nervous.

Instead, she opted to answer his question before he really lost his patience. It wasn't the answer he was expecting, though. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

He swung his head around to face her. On his face was the same startled expression from earlier. A widening of the eyes. His lips parted as if to say something before they snapped closed. Suddenly, he was glaring again. When he spoke, his words held a venomous edge. "How do you know I wasn't going to kill you?" he demanded.

She didn't answer him. She didn't even look at him. Instead, she reached over to the small table beside her bed. On it was an oil lamp, a notebook of sorts, and a simple sand-filled hourglass. In this one was a pale blue powder-like sand that glittered in the moonlight. It had barely enough sand to fill half of the bottom bulb.

Getting irritated by her lack of response, he snatched the collar of her shirt and jerked her towards him. One of her hands left the hourglass to grab his. He clenched his fist tighter and jerked on her, forcing himself to stay angry. "Answer me," he gritted out.

She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes with a soft expression that caused something in his stomach to jump. Sunako sighed tiredly. "It's just not my time yet. I just know."

He stared at her for a moment. His grip loosened and his eyes narrowed.

Setting the blue hourglass back on the bedside table, she freed both of her hands. Gently, she coaxed his hand into releasing her shirt. He pulled the limb back towards him, looking away from her and, once again, trying to burn a hole in her carpet with his eyes.

"I don't understand." When his look intensified, Sunako really began fearing for her carpet. He rubbed his fingers together and his attention was caught by the slick red stains that had joined the ink there. _'Blood.' _ Without notice, Gaara stood quickly, knocking Sunako onto her back.

He had one leg out the window, hands braced on the frame, before her voice drifted to him. He looked at her over his shoulder. She was standing by the end of her bed. When he paused, she smiled and said his name again. "Hey, Gaara, next time you feel like stalking me, use the front door like everyone else. Don't be a stranger."

Then, he was gone, leaving the curtains to billow in his wake as dawn cast the world in a dull gray glow.


	2. Taking Notes

When Gaara came to her house in the striking heat of the late spring afternoon, Temari seemed dumbfounded. Was he bored again _already? _It wasn't until he grudgingly asked for her advice that her paranoia started to creep in. "Advice? For what?"

He glanced at her, sizing her up, as if unsure as to how she would react. Finally, he pulled a large stack of parchment from a satchel that hung from his side, and pushed it at her. "Read it," he commanded, then disappeared.

Temari shaded her eyes and peered into the cloudless sky. As if to herself, she mentioned, "Gaara's getting faster nowadays, don't you think?"

Kankurou scoffed, walking out of an office in the back right corner of the house. "Either that or he's just getting better at running away," he sneered, "Spoiled brat." Temari jabbed him in the ribs before she turned and walked back into her house.

"Keep up with that, and I won't let you take those paints you came for." She made it seem more like an offhanded comment than the threat it was. She was already halfway down the second page as the carpet door covering flapped closed behind her. The older kunoichi spent the rest of the afternoon giggling and marveling at the events portrayed in her younger brother's "Observation" Journal…

Three slow knocks followed by two fast knocks. "Come in, Temari."

Temari ducked her head into the door, pushing aside the carpet, and headed back to Gaara's office. She had a grin that stretched from ear-to-ear when Gaara finally looked at her. Though it confused _him,_ Temari understood fully that what Gaara had found in his boredom was a person who was willing to be his friend. Now he wanted to know what to do about it.

"Ga-ara," she began in a singsong voice, "It would appe-ear that you have a frie-end." When he deadpanned, she had to keep herself from laughing outright. Of course he'd never believe that someone would offer him friendship. Nearly two decades of ostracism had done that for him.

Hell, Temari didn't completely understand it herself. She _did_ conceive, though, what Gaara needed to do, or _not _do again, rather. Gaara hadn't stopped staring at her as if she were dull since she made the outrageous statement, and she couldn't really blame him. Temari sighed. This might be harder than she had anticipated.

"Okay. You have someone who might very well be willing to be your friend. You don't want to mess it up, do you?"

He gave her a flat look. "Temari, don't be ridicu—"

"_Do you_?" She had intentionally cut him off. She had that hands-on-her-hips-I-know-what-I'm-talking-about-so-don't-argue-with-me look about her. He didn't argue, just shook his head. "Good boy! Now what do you know about her?" He retold everything that she'd already read in his journals. There was no real reason for him to recount every detail, but she asked it. She wanted to know if this girl had made a significant enough impression on her brother to be remembered. Apparently, she had. She nodded sagely. "It would appear that she's not from around here, ne?" Gaara shrugged.

"Do you know what her cat's name is?" Gaara nodded before blinking suddenly.

"What does that have to do with anything!"

Temari gave him a sour look. "It doesn't. Anyway, NO MORE DEATH THREATS!" She smacked him lightly on the side of his head. No sand came up to block this minor assault, though it was no surprise to either of the Sand Siblings. Since the experience when Gaara had released the Raccoon in Konoha, he and Temari had grown closer. It was to the point where the sand that eternally protected Gaara no longer reacted negatively in her presence. Since being named Kage, the two had grown even closer. Temari, in particular was an avid participant in helping him achieve his goal of becoming the leader that his people needed him to be.

Though Gaara still had a generally cold personality, he was known to act randomly and even childishly around Temari and, though fairly rarely, Kankurou. Gaara wasn't as close with his brother, seeing as Kankurou had inherited more from their father than just his tattoos. He had the gruff, domineeringly argumentative personality of the late Kazekage that Temari just _didn't._

Therefore, Temari was usually the peacemaker in their spats of sibling rivalry. Perhaps most importantly, though, Temari was the one, the _only_ one, that Gaara confided in. This was why, when the issue of Sunako appeared, she was the one he went to. Temari had taken the place of both sister and mother for him.

For the Sand Siblings, this was just fine.

"Why no more death threats? If I don't go through with them, there's no harm done."

Temari poked her tongue out at him and waggled her index finger in his face. "Wrong, wrong, Gaara-kun!" She straightened up and adopted a more serious tone. "Death threats and violence can cause serious emotional anxiety for most people. Even if she didn't run away screaming, there's only so much one person can take."

Gaara didn't seem to completely comprehend the statement so Temari wracked her brain for an analogy that he could relate to. She tapped her chin thoughtfully a few times before she grinned at him. "It's like when you're in a battle," she said, emphasizing her words with her hands, "Even if you take the first couple of blows from your opponent, eventually they wear you down. And once you're worn down, you become susceptible to even the slightest of injuries. It's the same thing with your death threats."

She put her hands up, palms facing the ceiling, as if weighing something. She motioned with one hand. "She'll be fine with the first few, especially if you don't make any move to exact them. However," she put emphasis on her other hand, "if you keep threatening her, she'll eventually believe that you hate her. Understand?"

Gaara nodded slowly. He really was a bright individual when it came to a subject that you could teach in school. But when the subject he was studying was human emotion, he was severely lacking in knowledge. Most of this was because the information on this particular subject in Life's Lesson Book was gained primarily through experience. This, he had little to none of.

This meant that basically Gaara knew that a scream was fear or pain verbally expressed and tears were sorrow shown in moments of weakness. The character for "love" on his head did _not_ mean he was a loving child; that was for certain.

"So what _should_ I do?" There was no sarcasm in the question, merely an honest curiosity.

Temari thought for a moment. _'What, indeed?' _"You could try going somewhere with her. If she invites you and you have nothing to do at that time, try to go with. It could be fun. I think you did well, though, in just talking to her yesterday." She paced back and forth across the room, her eyes roaming as she thought of something for Gaara to do.

Her eyes caught on the desk she had bought him, and stayed there. She paused mid-step. The wheels clicked and turned in her head as she devised a million little plans and discarded them before settling on the most basic one. She smiled brilliantly at him.

"Notes," she proclaimed, as if the single word would alter the structure of the universe. He gave her a questioning quirk of an eyebrow. She sighed, exasperated that he hadn't made the connection that she did.

"You're obviously not always going to be over there, right? So if you're not going to show up, leave her a note somewhere. Even make it like a game so she has to search for it, then she'll leave you one. That's it! Play games with her." After her small rant, she thought for a long time. Her arms, which had previously been waving around in wild, erratic motions, were now folded tightly across her chest.

"So… we have go places, play games, writing… Interests! Find out some of her interests or hobbies that you might be interested in yourself. Or get her into something that you do. Friends almost always have something that they're jointly interested in and they usually do it together! Perfect." She glanced over at Gaara and almost cried for laughing.

Gaara was taking notes.

This little routine went on for a few more hours, until the sun was about to spray its last bursts of color across the skies before it fell over the edge of the Earth. When all was said and done, Gaara had about 5 pages of notes and Temari seriously needed a drink of water.

A short time later, Temari waved goodbye to her brother and headed back home, the sense of a job well done ringing through her entire being. Gaara was out the door a spare ten minutes after her, heading along the rooftops in the opposite direction.

He had another question to ask a certain someone before he got too deep into this. And, honestly, he was dreading the answer he'd receive. But it would take him a good 15 minutes to reach her house. He had all the time he needed to practice how to ask.

When Gaara finally arrived at Sunako's house, he dropped from the second story rooftop to the red tile ledge outside of her window. He hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to go in. Silently, he commanded a small amount of sand to slide through the tiny crack between the panes and unlock the window. After a short moment, the latch flipped open with a muffled click. The window swung in.

He slipped in soundlessly, just another shadow in the night. Sunako was in her bed, as expected, sleeping peacefully though it was still early in the evening. It was actually an amusing sight. The girl was flopped over on her chest, head at the foot of her bed, with her right arm and calf dangling over the edge. Her thin sheet was bundled up underneath her and wrapped up under her head, acting as a makeshift pillow. Her actual pillow was all the way across the room, slumped against the wall, as if she'd thrown it there.

She groaned and rolled to the left so that she was laying on her side, clutching the "pillow" tightly to her chest.

Quietly, he walked over to the bed and sat down slowly, so as not to jounce her. Tentatively, he reached his hand out and rocked her bare shoulder. To his intense mortification, instead of waking up as he had hoped she would, she snatched his hand and pulled it around her, clutching it to her chest in the same manner that she had the sheets.

His stomach jumped. He could feel her warm exhales feathering across his fingertips. It was in this moment that he realized that he was completely immersed in her strange and exotic scent. He'd been too angry the night before to realize it when he first came into her room. Still, he had no time to analyze her individual smell, however pleasant it was.

Tugging on his hand, he got her to release it. He tried rocking her shoulder a little more vigorously. This time, she peeked one eye open. The blue iris was fogged over with sleep so that it appeared to be a pallid gray. She groaned and sat up slowly.

"Gaara-sama? What is it? It's…" she peered at a clock whose red digital readout flashed annoyingly, "…only 10:30. Never mind, then. You're not that late. Anyway, what's up? She yawned as she said the last two words, so they sounded more like, "Whuszh uhf?"

She stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before turning and kicking her legs over the edge of the bed. She was sitting beside him now.

"I… uh…" he began hesitantly.

'_This is going to be interesting,'_ thought Sunako groggily.

"I came to… ask… ask if you…" He was nervous. He couldn't come straight out and say it. Hell, he hadn't asked anyone this question before. "If you would like to…" He mentally kicked himself for pausing yet again. Deciding he might as well get it over with, he took a deep breath.

"Doyouwanttobemyfriend?" It was so rushed that it all sounded like one word. He started fidgeting.

There was a long moment of silence as they stared at each other in the dimly lit room. Gaara felt the hair raise along the back of his neck as a sense like mortal danger swept over him. He felt his throat close and jerked his eyes towards his restless hands. He waited for the rebuff that was sure to come.

_'What was I thinking? Temari's a moron and I'm an imbecile. No sane human being would want me anywhere near them, nevertheless around them enough to maintain a friendship. This is completely ridiculous. I've just made a fool out of myself.'_

Then...

_'If she doesn't say something in the next ten seconds, I'm leaving and having one of the students at the academy wipe her memory as their graduation exam...'_

"Is that it? Of course I want to be your friend!" He turned and stared at her incredulously, not trusting his own ears. She had run her fingers through her hair and had the heel of her hand pressed against her forehead, the dark locks tangled in the slim digits. "Sheesh," she mumbled to herself, "I can't believe you even had to ask. You're so dense." She turned, grinning widely at him. The expression was somewhat mischievous, and suddenly he was reminded of an annoying, sandy-haired teen in a village hidden in the leaves.

"What're you looking so shell-shocked for? Kami-sama, boy, it's not like I was mean to ya! Sheesh. Now," she took a deep breath and placed her hands on her knees. "Get out of my room and let me sleep! Eeevil boy." She stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

For the first time since Yashamaru had died, Gaara smiled. It was a small, crooked, barely twitching upward of the lips, but still a smile nonetheless. He nodded and walked back to the open window.

"There's no way I'm going to get you to use the front door like a normal person, am I?" Gaara turned to see her smiling before she flopped backward, arms spread dramatically. He smirked at her antics and replied with a soft "No" before he disappeared, once again, into the night.

Three days passed without sight or sign, before Sunako heard anything from the elusive redhead.

"See you tomorrow, Sunako! Bright and early!"

The young woman waved goodbye to Mrs. Ti, the bent, elderly owner of the textiles shop that she worked at during the week. Most of the shops in the marketplace closed about this time each day, when the air became so sweltering hot that it was nearly unbearable, and only stragglers, desperate for last minute items or necessities like food and medicine wandered the empty streets. They'd reopen again in the evening, when it would be cooler. Thankfully, though, Sunako had been given the morning shifts. She was an early riser and an early sleeper by nature, and she didn't mind doing the weaving for the orders that were usually picked up in the evenings. Mrs. Ti was getting arthritic in her age, and the intricate patterns became more and more difficult for her to do as time went on.

"I'll see you then, Mrs. Ti! Have a good evening," she called as she walked on down the barren street, towards her home.

The impossible heat made her clothes stick to her uncomfortably. She tugged at the neck of her simple cotton shirt as she rounded the corner of her street, trying to vent some of the building warmth away from her skin. No matter how long she lived in Sunagakure, she didn't think she'd ever get used to the arid climate.

When she got to her house, she leaned against the door, blissfully hidden from direct sunlight by the overhanging eaves. As she fished around her purse, looking for her door key, however, her hand brushed against something stiff and dry. A look of mild surprised crossed her face as she pulled a folded square envelope from her bag. It was completely unmarked on the outside, with the exception of an unfamiliar seal pressed into dark blue wax, where the edges of the paper joined.

Hesitantly, she slid her finger under the wax, breaking the seal carefully, so as not to ruin the intricately carved emblem. When she flipped the carefully folded corners open, a long, angled handwriting met her eyes.

_Why would you open a letter if you do not know who it is from or how it got to be in your possession? It could have had poison dust in it or been attached to an explosive. Idiot._

_I will be out of the village for two weeks from Monday. Upon my return, I expect jasmine tea._

_-G_

_P.S. You are acutely unobservant of your surroundings._

Sunako stared at the letter for a long moment before promptly bursting into laughter. For many long minutes, she sat on her front step, hunched over in the unforgiving heat, laughing so loudly that it echoed in bell-like peals down the empty road.

She finally lifted herself from the dusty step when a neighbor, the elderly woman who had borrowed her kitchen two weeks ago, came to see if she was suffering from sun sickness. After a moment of idle chit chat, she convinced the concerned elder that she was fine and well, and took herself into the cool confines of her home. All through the evening, while tidying the house, giving Momo a bath, and finally as she sat and read a novel in her bed before going to sleep, Sunako found that she couldn't wipe the silly grin off of her face, or withhold the chuckles that bubbled to the surface, as if her humor had a mind and voice all of its own.


	3. Cloak

The second Monday in April dawned bright and thankfully cooler than the first two weeks of the month had been. A playful breeze twirled in the streets, tugging on the head scarves of women and tossing fine dust onto the backs of camels and the men who lead them. Vendors and clients called prices back and forth as strays begged for their meals from soft-hearted children.

The marketplace of Sunagakure twisted a winding path through the center of the village like a massive, banded snake. The different sections of the street were divided based on what wares were peddled there, marked by the different, vibrantly colored awnings that blocked the shops from the searing heat of the desert sun. The Garden section, with its awnings in various shades of green, sold supplies for growing fruits and vegetables, as well as being the only fresh produce market in the city. It was here that the Spring morning found a young woman sitting on a corner in the shade, scooping out the fleshy center of a kiwi with a wooden spoon. Sunako popped a morsel of the vibrantly green fruit into her mouth, savoring its tangy sweetness before folding the empty skin up and tossing into the street. Within seconds, it was lost to sight and memory under the traffic of hundreds of feet.

She stood slowly, brushing the dirt from where it had settled on her white seamstress's apron before taking a breath and jumping into the fray. The sea of people surged forward, pushing her along like a riptide. She was swept past the red-veiled butcher's shop, walls of hunting and trapping supplies, and leather goods. The tiny Jeweler's district passed in a flash of violet, and she found herself under the protective white canvas screens of the Textiles section of the marketplace.

The Textile district was the only area of the marketplace in which the awnings stretched clear from one side of the street to the other, as the sun could easily leech the colors, and therefore the value, from some of the more vibrant pieces. Combined with the reflective color of the canvas roof itself, the Textile district was, consequently, the coolest place in the market. Here, women often stopped to take a rest from the omnipresent sun, and rarely did they leave without buying string, fabric, or other little crafts that they could use to pass the hottest hours of the day, when being outside would be unbearable anywhere.

Today, however, the tight press of bodies was so close in the street that heat was building to breathtaking levels even under the white screens. Sunako found her little stand, where Mrs. Ti was haggling the price of a finely woven bag with a middle-aged kunoichi. The medicine bag, with its little compartments for various herbs and tinctures, had been something of Sunako's own creation, and she smiled when she saw Mrs. Ti and the woman settle on a price for it. That bag had quickly become popular with both the nurses at the Sunagakure hospital and the medi-nin who frequented the little shop. Sunako typically made them according to custom order, based on what size and type of supplies the individual carried with them, though it wasn't unusual to find a standard one in the home of Sunagakure's mothers, as heat sickness, minor cuts, and burns were common ailments amongst the children of the Hidden Sand.

As another customer stepped up to take the female ninja's place, Sunako swept aside the hanging mat that separated the customer area from the workers' area. Back here, three looms stood, one leaned against each wooden wall, with a basket of different colors, textures, and widths of yarn next to each. Sunako's duty today, though, was not to weave, but to make more yarn from the delicate strands of silk fiber collected in a canvas bag by her loom. It was a slow process, making yarn, as Mrs. Ti's standing spindle had broken some weeks ago, and the craftsmen further down the market street didn't know how to make one. So they were stuck waiting for the new spindle to arrive from another craftsman in the next town. In the meantime, Sunako and the other two weavers of the shop had been given the tedious task of making yarn through the use of a drop spindle, which was nothing more than a wooden rod with a knobbed end.

Sighing, Sunako eyed the bag of fine fibers warily and sat down at her loom. She dug around in her purse and fished out the heavy, folded paper. For perhaps the fiftieth time in the four days since she'd received it, Sunako reread Gaara's note and smiled. She had put the order in for jasmine tea leaves only twenty minutes ago with a shopkeeper in the Garden section, and had decided to take a small lunch while she was there. The kiwi had been just what she needed to sate the thirst that had built up while traveling the hot, dry street. The shop owner had promised her that the order would be in long before the next Monday, so she had plenty of time to get them before Gaara returned.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she didn't hear Mrs. Ti call her name until the elderly woman poked her head in past the hanging carpet and startled her.

"Sunako! There's someone here to place an order for a cloak. Can you help her please?" Mrs. Ti's voice was sharp as she gave the young woman a stern look. _'Be professional,'_ it said. This customer was someone important. Not the regulars who came by the shop looking for fabrics and standard wares. Sunako felt her stomach tighten a moment in anxiety, and stood quickly, straightening her apron and smoothing her hair as best she could before breezing through the curtain.

The woman she saw made her freeze, as anxiety coursed a straight path from her stomach to her heart. It was only a second, but she saw a spark of humor behind the blonde kunoichi's eyes.

"Temari-sama." Sunako bowed and mentally patted herself on the back for not tripping over either her words or her feet as she crossed the small area to stand before the sister of the Kazekage, and one of the strongest ninjas of their village.

"What's honor brings you to our humble shop?" Temari watched the girl carefully as she folded her hands before her, standing straight and proud. Her words were a formal, practiced etiquette that Temari had grown used to hearing as the daughter of the late Kazekage, and now the sister of the current one. However, it held a warmness of tone, an easy friendliness that was unexpected and surprisingly refreshing. Most of the villagers had gotten accustomed to seeing her around the marketplace, and she often stopped to chat with the vendors, but few were more than polite, if not borderline groveling. Therefore, when Temari wanted something purchased, she usually sent a liaison to put the order in for her. Today was an exception.

"I need to order a cloak, and I've heard that you have some fine weavers here who may be able to manipulate the material I'm looking for." The blonde smiled dotingly, though her eyes were distant and calculating. Temari didn't need the cloak; she had more than enough clothes to wear in a year already. She had come to see what kind of person this girl was, whom her brother had taken such a curious interest in. At first glance, she seemed a perfectly normal young woman. She wasn't strikingly beautiful or particularly interesting to look at, and her chakra flowed in the pattern of any normal individual.

Even so, there was often more to people than meets the eye. It wasn't that she didn't trust her brother's sense of judgment, but Temari was much more familiar with the types of mind games that only females played, which could cripple even the strongest of men.

"Wonderful," the girl chimed, "What type of material are you looking for? We may have to order it, but if you have a supplier that you know and prefer, we can contact them." She had fished from one of her pockets a little notebook and looked at Temari with an expectant smile.

Temari grinned. No one, no master weaver or elite scientist had been willing to try what she was about to suggest. Part of her wanted the girl to simply to give up, and part of her wanted to take the challenge, regardless of the fact that she would fail even if she did.

"You don't need to worry about the string, I've had the fibers prepared for some time now. However," Temari's grin grew wider, and slightly wicked, "you'll have to spin it before you weave the cloak itself."

There was nothing really unusual about the female nin's request, but something about the gleam in her eyes set Sunako's teeth on edge. It seemed too covert, too _funny_ to the older woman to be something as simple as wool, cotton, or even silk.

"What kind of fibers are they?" Sunako watched the blonde carefully, a feeling of dread creeping up her spine, burning cold.

"Spider's silk."

The words were spoken so simply, as if it were commonplace, but the grin on Temari's face belied her casual attitude. This was a project for a master weaver, perhaps someone with ever greater skill than that, not for a weaver woman holed up in the corner of the Sand Village bazaar.

"Impossible." Sunako could feel the shock from Mrs. Ti reverberate through the air behind her. Never had she turned down a commission from anyone, not matter how difficult or complicated. She may request extra time to complete a piece, if possible, and her work was always phenomenal. It was one of the reasons Mrs. Ti, and therefore Sunako had become so successful in the last couple of years. They had made a name for themselves. They would take any project, and complete it above and beyond expectations.

But...

"So you won't do it, then." Temari couldn't say that she was surprised, though she was shocked at how disappointed she was at the girl's immediate refusal. As if she hadn't put any thought whatsoever towards the possibilities of the project...

And then...

"Oh I didn't say I wouldn't do it." Temari's eyes jerked up from where she'd let them drift to the ground, only to meet the younger woman's brilliantly blue orbs. In them she saw mirth and defiance, as if the challenge put before her was elating. Then she spoke again, and her grin nearly split her face with pearly white. "I just said it would be impossible. But you and I both know that I've already done one thing recently that would seem either miracle or insanity to most," Sunako shrugged, as if someone had commented on the heat of the day, then smiled again, "So what could another insane impossibility hurt?"

Temari could have jumped for joy and hugged the girl where she stood from the excited blood pumping through her veins. This girl, she decided, would be good for Gaara. She had fire in her, she did. It burned low and warm in her friendly demeanor, but sparked at the challenge, and suddenly Temari felt as if she could be swept away by the heat of it.

And then suddenly, the blonde ninja saw the burning knowledge behind the blue eyes, and knew that the girl had perhaps known all along that this challenge was a test of her character. Despite herself, she felt impressed with the young woman. Perhaps she was not beautiful or powerful, but this girl had spirit. She was clever, this one.

"I'll make the necessary arrangements. My liaison will bring you the fibers and my measurements, as well as a sketch of the design I would like the cloak to be patterned with."

Sunako nodded. "Very well." But as she turned to leave, Temari heard the girl call her name.

"Hmm?"

Again, she grinned, that playful, cheeky grin. "When next you see Gaara-sama, please let him know that I'm not as unobservant as he seems to believe I am."

Temari let out a sharp bark of laughter as she turned to walk away yet again. This time, she made it all the way back to her home without interruption.

Very clever, indeed.


	4. Dagger

Within a few days, Sunako had received all of the supplies for the cloak, including twenty bundled spools of the delicate spider silk, each one as big around as her torso. Standing in her living room, her loom before her, and surrounded by the soft golden fibers, she felt slightly overwhelmed. She clutched the missive from Temari in her hand, and reread the instructions for construction as the sister of the Kazekage had laid them out.

_'It must have taken her years to gather all of this,' she thought. ' How many spiders did it take?'_

The folded envelope, so much like the one that Gaara himself had left for her, contained the client's body measurements, the names of the liaisons who were to be trusted with any correspondence between the two of them, and the location of Temari's office, in case she needed to discuss any changes in the style or means of weaving the intricate garment. It also included a brief note from Temari, explaining why it was that she should want so extraordinary a piece of clothing.

She had never considered that the making of something as simple as a dust cloak for the sister of the Kazekage would require such measures that even the people who carried the notes about pattern changes had to be known, trusted officials.

And suddenly, her home was frequented by ninjas.

To allow Gaara in was one thing, but it was entirely another to have complete strangers hovering around every corner, as if expecting that she might somehow make a trap out of the delicate strands she wove. Sunako had barely been able to set up her loom-brought to her home from Mrs. Ti's shop by said ninjas, of course-without having an entire squadron descend upon her living room. It had gotten to the point that she was so paranoid of having some random person pop up next to her in the room that she'd begun changing clothes in the shower, the only place she was promised privacy.

The only benefit that she could see so far was that, instead of working in the stifling heat of the little shop's backroom, Mrs. Ti had decided that she should focus all of her energy and efforts towards completing the textile in due time. It wasn't just that the elderly shop owner wanted to impress Temari, for certain. To weave something so intricate and fine, at the challenge of any person, nevertheless someone as powerful as a protector of their country, had already drawn crowds of people to the already crowded little shop. Everyone wanted to know how it was coming, if Sunako had given up, if it was really happening at all, what color, what pattern, details, details, details... And for the price of a ball of yarn, or a bolt of fabric, they could hear all they ever wanted to know.

Apparently, someone had decided that the garment was to be unveiled at the Summer Festival, when the village celebrated the coming of the desert rains. It was perhaps the only time of year that the arid country ever saw water that wasn't drawn from the ground.

Temari, of course, had pounced on that idea as soon as it surfaced, and let Sunako know that the cloak must be done by then, including times for fitting and adjustments. Sunako had just three spare weeks. Three weeks to spin the thread, to weave the fabric, to hem and stitch and sew the perfect desert mantle.

Sunako was overwhelmed. She stared at the letter in her hand again, as if unable to comprehend the time frame that she'd been given. Heaving a heavy sigh, she sat down at the stool before her loom and pulled a drop spindle from the top of a pile of the spider silk spools and began to twist the leader yarn. With quick dexterity, she looped a series of half-hitches to the end of the spindle and dropped it with a flick. She sat for nearly an hour, mindlessly trying to create an even silken thread, when a choked laugh emanated from her kitchen, nearly causing her to drop the spindle and ruin the spool of fine yarn she had created.

Before her stood a middle-aged nin, his face shrouded by the dark material of his mask and Sunagakure headband. However, his chocolate brown eyes danced in mirth, and the faint impression of a smile could be seen beneath the covering.

This ninja, Sunako had learned, was called Toukai. However, Sunako had taken to calling him only by the last part of his name, as it seemed to irk him. And she did enjoy irking him.

"Yes, Kai-san? Is there something amusing about this situation to you?"

Again, a deep chuckle rumbled across the room.

"Only that it seems to take you such great concentration to spin a top with a string on it. Many children spend hours doing this in their leisure, and yet you seem to find it quite difficult." The jeering lilt to his tone aggravated her. But it was a good humored aggravation, reminiscent of her brothers so long ago.

In her humor, she adopted a severe tone, "Are you implying, sir, that children are more capable than I am at spinning a top? If that is the case, please feel free to show me the proper way to do such a _menial_ task." Never once did she divert her eyes from the fine golden thread between her fingers. However, she heard the faint shift of fabric as the nin walked over, careless now of being silent. From another stack of silken threads, he pulled a second drop spindle, identical to hers.

When he reached for a mound of the shimmering spider silk, however, she stopped him.

"Use the wool first. Can't afford to have you ruin milady's spider silk, now can we?" She felt the burn of the glare on the back of her head, and grinned in satisfaction. Momo purred from somewhere near her ankle. Had she not been so consumed in working as quickly as possible, she would have liked to curl up with the fat tabby and read on her "day off." As it was, she settled for stroking the cat's side with her foot.

The chocolate brown ottoman, part of the matching set for her sofa, slid into her field of vision and she pinched the delicate spider silk thread between her fingers to keep it from unwinding. Toukai sat down, feet planted wide, with one hand clutching the drop spindle like a club. Sunako was sure she could feel many sets of eyes steadily trained on them, invisible in the dark corners of the house, and the mischievous little voice inside cried for something to make her laugh. Just a little humor.

"Well?" She saw his eyes tighten in aggravation at her prompt and continued, "If this is simple enough to be done by children, then surely an advanced shinobi such as yourself should be able to complete an entire spool with ease."

"Even children must first be taught." He handed her a roll of wool fiber that he probably snatched from one of her baskets by the loom.

Sunako smiled. That was about as close to a concession as she was going to come with this one. "First, wind the fibers to create your leader..." She walked him through the steps of the half-hitch and laughed aloud when he dropped the spindle on the first spin and the thread ripped. The man nearly planted the drop spindle in the wall like a kunai in his frustration.

After assuring herself that neither her house or her tools were in jeopardy, and that the ninja's thread was back where it was supposed to be, she handed him a spool of the silken gold fibers.

"I think you can manage these, Kai-san. But I have a challenge for you."

The masked ninja cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. Sunako grinned.

"If, by the end of the night, you can spin more thread than me - and well, mind you, I'll not have you ruin Temari-sama's cloak - then I'll be at the service of you and your team for an entire week. If I can spin more thread than you, then you and every member of your squad must be at my beck and call for the same period of time." Sunako knew that it was a ridiculous thing to challenge him with. She had much more experience, sure, but spinning thread was not a difficult task. And he had reflexes and speed honed by years of martial training on his side. Spinning a top, as he put it, would be child's play.

It seemed that Toukai had made the same connection, as his eyebrow shot impossibly higher and disappeared altogether beneath his headband. This was an unfair match, for sure. The impression of a smile pulled the mask tight across his face.

"It' a deal," he chirped, the sound of victory already ringing clear in his voice. The spindles dropped. The contest had begun.

For countless hours the two spun. Occasionally, another nin from the group would come by to cheer or jeer at them. At one point, a tall, burly male was doing balanced pirouettes along her stair banister, and Sunako became so enraptured with trying to find out how he wasn't falling down between bouts of laughter that she fell behind by nearly half a spool.

The fine threads glittered in the light of the dying candles. Most of the homes of Sunagakure had electricity available to them, but it was expensive and many still fell back on the affordable and available paraffin alternatives. Enclosed oil lamps had also remained quite popular, as brighter and safer options, especially in homes with lots of pets or children.

As the night wore on, the spools of completed thread grew larger as the piles of raw fiber seemed to slowly disappear. Sunako allowed herself to crack a smile. She was behind by nearly four spools, and she wasn't likely to catch up, especially at the rate that they were burning through the fibers. But it didn't matter to her who finished first, or who spun more. A small voice at the back of her head said that she was going to regret promising herself as a servant to a bunch of rowdy ninjas, but she shook it away. She would have spent precious days wasted just in spinning if it weren't for this. A week of servitude might be well worth it just to finish this monumental project in time.

As she filled her spool and went to reach for another bundle of fibers, she found that there were none. A muffled chuckle came from the direction of the ottoman.

"There's no more, Sunako-san. It's all gone. You've lost."

She grinned. "I don't believe I have, Kai-san."

She laughed aloud when she saw the ninja take a quick inventory of how many spools of thread each of them had spun. He shot her a quick glare, but she waved her hands as if to calm him.

"Yes, you spun more thread, and therefore you won the challenge. However, the entire reason I proposed the contest to begin with was because I didn't want to be stuck spending days doing nothing but mindlessly spinning string," Toukai's brown eyes widened as understanding slowly clicked into place, "And here you spun most of it, after all!" She grinned as she motioned to the two piles of yarn. His thirteen to her seven.

"You... you tricked me!" The shock underlying his tone, as if he'd had his entire world rocked, made her laugh aloud again.

"Well... I wouldn't say _that_," she quipped playfully, "I simply lead you to believe my intentions were one thing when they were completely another." She paused for a moment, a finger to her chin for theatrical effect. "Yeah. Yeah, I tricked you."

A series of muffled snorts rang down the stairs, and Toukai shot a glare towards the shadows where his squad was hiding.

"On the up side," she added, still in a light, teasing tone, "You guys get to boss me around for a week so you'll have plenty of time to get back at me for such a great slight to your obviously wounded pride." More choking laughter.

Toukai rolled his eyes. "Very well then, little girl. Your thread is done, you can start weaving as soon as you'd like. In the meantime," he made a slight, barely perceptible motion with his hand, and suddenly, his three teammates had surrounded his chair, all grinning like fools, "we'll be taking our leave for the night."

She nodded and smiled. "Thanks again for your help," she teased, "it was so _very_ generous of you."

Without a sound, the group disappeared, but she called out a goodnight before she heard the click of the front door closing. As she walked across the room to slide the deadbolt closed, her foot hit something cold and hard on the floor, sending it skittering along the sandstone tiles, into the candlelight.

It was a single, narrow throwing knife, with a loop at one end. The knife blade, however, was multi-faceted, and cut like it had been poured into a star-shaped mould, as if it were made only for piercing and not for cutting. It seemed familiar, and Sunako wondered that one of the ninjas would have been careless enough to just leave it lying around.

Walking back over to the piles of yarn, Sunako grabbed a handful of rough wool fibers and spun a quick thread. She slipped it through the loop of the knife and carried both back over to the front door. As she slid the deadbolt home, she tied the woolen thread to the doorknob. When they came back in the morning, one of the ninjas would be sure to notice something as conspicuous as a knife hanging on the door. Sunako just hoped they wouldn't leave any more lying around. The last thing she needed was to wind up in the hospital, with a knife stuck in her foot.

With a sigh and a stretch, Sunako trudged up the stairs and into her bedroom. She was fast asleep between the sheets before the door had time to shut behind her.


End file.
